13

January 1896

The cells were airless, filthy, and the vermin had free run of the place. There were no cots; the prisoners slept on the floor when they slept at all. A trickle of water running down a gutter in the yard was their only means of washing themselves; the heat of the South African summer was at its unbearable maximum. Three buckets, emptied only every second day, served as their privy. Most of the line troops involved in the ill-fated expedition had been freed, sent back across the border to Bechuanaland with the admonition never to enter the Transvaal again, but the leaders had been held and the members of the Reform Committee had been rounded up and also jailed, held for trial on the charges of treason and the distribution of arms. Jameson himself had been turned over to the Cape authorities to be sent to England for trial by his own government. It was a decision that Paul Kruger regretted as soon as Jameson had crossed the border into the Cape.

Barney Barnato, entering the prison after the many weeks it had taken him to get permission for the visit, wrinkled his nose at the smell. It was worse than anything he could recall, worse than the rancid, fetid odors in the slums of the East End where he had been raised, worse than the stench of offal and human waste that had greeted him when he had first come to Kimberley. Yet Solly Loeb, as well as most of the other prisoners he saw, seemed to be in a rather cheerful frame of mind. Solly was far from his usual dapper self, but the open-necked shirt and trousers dirty from the weeks in the jail did not seem to perturb him at all.

“You get used to not changing clothes every day,” he said, smiling. “You also—fortunately—even get used to the smell.”

“How about the food?” Barney asked.

Solly’s smile broadened. “Some of the wives have been, given permits to visit. My own wife brought in a box of cigars and a roasted duckling under her bustle; Grey’s wife came with a sausage wrapped around her waist. And money is a wonderful thing. A pound note here and a fiver there and we can get anything we want. The jailers are more like valets than warders. Not all of them, of course,” he added. “Du Plessis, the head warder, is a monster. He has Kaffirs beaten so we can hear them scream. It’s supposed to intimidate us, to make us frightened. He’s a fool.” He said it contemptuously.

Barney studied his nephew. Solly seemed a lot braver than Barney could ever recall. “Well, I must say you’re taking it well.”

Solly shrugged. “It’s just one of those unfortunate occurrences. The lawyers say the trial will take place in a week or so, and once that nonsense is over with and out of the way, we’ll be out of here.”

Barney stared at him in surprise. “And just what makes you think you’ll be out of here once the trial is over? You can’t possibly hope to be let go without any punishment whatsoever.”

Solly’s look was superior. It was, after all, one more example of his uncle’s innocence.

“Our lawyers told us that all old Kruger wants is an admission of guilt. The old man doesn’t want our blood; what would he do with it? If we admit we were naughty boys, he’ll slap us on the wrist, make us pay something into that ever-hungry treasury of his, and tell us to behave in the future. It’s as simple as that.”

“What!” Barney was shocked. “You’re insane! And so are your so-called lawyers! They had you plead guilty? Guilty? To a charge of treason? Whatever made them, or you, think Kruger would free you, especially after an idiot plea like that?”

Solly looked at him almost with condescension. “Look, Barney. I know you’re on speaking terms with old Kruger, but that doesn’t make you an expert on everything he says or does. Our lawyers know the old man, too, and what’s more important, they know the prosecuting attorney as well. Be reasonable! What would it gain old man Kruger to make us sit in this stinking hole for a few extra weeks or even months? We wouldn’t be making money, and that means we wouldn’t be paying his taxes, or bribing his officials, or all the hundreds of other things we do every day that keeps the economy of his precious Transvaal from falling to pieces. Half the mines on the Rand have shut down during all this brouhaha. D’you think old man Kruger hasn’t felt the effect of that when he pats his pants pockets? Of course he has! The old man isn’t totally insane, you know.”

“No, but you and your so-called lawyers are! Let me get you proper counsel—”

“No!” Solly’s face got ugly. “Barney, I suppose you mean well, but we’re quite satisfied with the counsel we have now. They were selected by Lionel Phillips, and he knows his way around the corner as well as you do. This is no time to be rocking the boat. Our lawyers have made a deal.” He dropped his voice although there was nobody near who might have overheard. “We plead guilty and we get off with a fine and a slap on the wrist. That’s the deal. Don’t interfere.”

Barney considered Solly for long seconds. He looked around the barren prison yard, seeing the men there, some playing cards, some laughing over some incident. Fools! he thought, and looked back at his nephew. “If that’s the way you want it. Is there anything I can get you?”

“Not a thing.”

“Well … In that case, I’ll be going. Is there anything you’re involved in at the office that needs handling?”

“No, my boys have everything under control.” Solly smiled. “I get regular reports, even in here.”

“The Pretoria branch of the Rand Club, eh? Well, in that case …” Barney nodded his head rather abruptly and walked from the yard where he and Solly had been talking, his prison pass pressed tightly between his fingers. How like Solly to believe anything a man like Lionel Phillips said, or the lawyers that Phillips had selected! How could a nephew of his, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood, be that damnably stupid? What a pity Solly had been born a Jew! Solly would probably have given everything he possessed to be able to sew that foreskin back in place and take his rightful position among the elite of Johannesburg and the Rand Club, among the machers, the big people, the respectable Christians! He must get down on his knees every night and thank God he wasn’t born with a big hooked nose, or tight, curly hair! Still, the boy was his sister’s son, and he had to do everything possible to save him from his own foolishness. But what could be done in face of such stubbornness?

Behind him as he left the yard, Solly watched his uncle’s back with a look of disdain on his handsome face. Barney Barnato offering him advice! What a joke! If Barney knew one half of what went on in Jo’burg, even as far as his own businesses were concerned, he’d be a lot wiser man than he was. A lot unhappier, too. But the fact was that Barney Barnato was not half as bright as he thought he was, or Solly Loeb would not have been able to feather his own nest so comfortably. And Barney didn’t even have a suspicion! And now he wanted to interfere in something he understood even less than he did business. With a sneer Solly put Barney and Barney’s worries from his mind and started back toward his cell. There was a bottle of bubbly there, as well as half of the roast duckling his wife had brought—if the rats hadn’t eaten it while he was wasting his time with his uncle Barney …

Judge Gregorowski had been called in from Bloemfontein in the Free State to preside at the trial of the sixty members of the Reform Committee, as well as the four men considered the ringleaders in planning and executing the raid: Colonel Frank Rhodes, John Hays Hammond, Carl Luckner, and Lionel Phillips. The trial was scheduled to be held at the Pretoria Town Hall, since the courthouse was considered too small for the large number of defendants and the crowd that was expected to attend. Barney, sitting in the first row of spectators with Fay at his side, gritted his teeth to see the defendants, on benches before him, with Solly among them, laughing and joking among themselves, chatting away quite as if they were merely passing time waiting for the next race at the racecourse, rather than facing trial on a most serious charge.

“Idiots!” he muttered angrily. “Suicidal idiots!”

Fay reached over and took his hand, squeezing it. “Relax, darling.”

“Relax! How can I relax? Can you imagine pleading guilty on a charge of treason. Treason? They’re insane! No proper court in the world would even permit such a plea!”

There was the bang of a gavel, a momentary hushing of the large crowd, and Judge Gregorowski entered and took his place on the bench. The four ringleaders, standing in the movable dock that had been put in place by the black-uniformed warders, turned to face him; the other defendants lounged to their feet as if bored by the entire proceedings. Gregorowski was a large heavy-set man without a hair on his head, and with a huge hooked nose and small beady eyes that looked at the crowd as if suspecting that they, too, probably should have been in the dock as well as the four. After a brief inspection of his audience, he motioned to the prosecuting attorney to begin the proceedings. The prosecutor came to his feet and began reading from a paper, droning the names of the defendants one by one. When he had finished this portion of the indictment, he came to the charge. The crowd fell silent. He spoke in Afrikaans, which most of the defendants could not understand.

“These men,” he said, his tone almost contemptuous, “combined to plan the overthrow of the Government of the Republic of the Transvaal. They freely admit they planned the deed; I have no doubt they even bragged about it among themselves, or at least before they were arrested. They could scarcely do less than admit their guilt, since we are in possession of a letter signed by the four in the dock, found in the possession of a certain Lieutenant White in his dispatch case when the so-called raid of Captain Jameson and his troopers met its deserved end at the twin kopjes of Doornkop outside of Krugersdorp. We consider these four men, therefore, guilty of high treason and ask that they be sentenced accordingly.”

He swung about, facing the other defendants crowded on the benches between Judge Gregorowski and the spectators. Several of the defendants yawned openly. They did not understand a word of Afrikaans and they only wished the wordy bastard would get on with whatever he was trying to say so they could pay whatever fines were going to be imposed and then go home. Fun was fun, but they had wasted enough time in the stinking Pretoria prison, and it was time to get the affair over and done with and get back to work. The prosecutor’s voice became even more contemptuous.

“These other men, these sixty, we simply consider lackeys, fools—dangerous fools who sadly need a lesson, parlous fools had their plan worked, but fools. Dupes. Look at them, Your Honor. They live in our country. Most of them have become prosperous, even wealthy in our country. And yet they planned to overthrow a government that has permitted them the freedom to take the gold from our ground, given them the freedom to build themselves large enterprises, to own huge tracts of land, to exploit our country in every conceivable way, to rob us of our riches, to be more precise. But the State is merciful and does not charge them with high treason. The charge we bring against them, however, is still a serious one. The charge is the distribution of arms, which is proscribed for Uitlanders in our republic. We shall now proceed to prove these charges, Your Honor, although the defendants, both those on the benches before Your Honor and those in the dock, have freely admitted their guilt through their lawyers. They have also agreed not to press any defense but to abide by the decision of this court. We leave to the judgment of Your Honor the punishment for the fools before you, but for the four in the dock, the State requests—nay, demands—the sentence of—”

There was deathly quiet in the large room; people leaned forward on their benches, heat forgotten. Barney’s one fist was clenched tightly; his other hand was squeezing Fay’s hand painfully, but she said nothing. Even the defendants who did not understand the Afrikaans language were suddenly aware that the prosecutor had said something, or was about to say something, of importance. The words came out, flatly, solemnly.

“—hangen by den nek—”

There was a startled gasp from all the defendants as well as from most of the spectators, although there were also some satisfied smiles from others; these words were easily understood whether one spoke the language or not. Angry glares and mutterings broke out among the defendants. It was not possible! A deal had been made, a promise had been broken! Barney stared in bitter anger at the prosecutor, although he knew his fury should have been directed against Lionel Phillips and the idiot lawyers who thought they could make a deal with Paul Kruger after trying to throw him out of his own country. The prosecutor was continuing.

“Your Honor, to begin I should like to present in evidence the letter which these four men in the dock signed, and which was used by Captain Leander Starr Jameson as the excuse for his criminal—and deservedly ill-fated—invasion of the Transvaal territory …”

The following day it was the turn of the defense lawyers, but it was a lost cause and they acted as if they knew it. Barney, listening to them, wondered how anyone that stupid could end up with a university degree and be taken seriously in his profession. The lawyers did their best to undo the damage of their having advised their clients to plead guilty, but their hesitant, stammering words and weak arguments plainly conceded defeat long before they were finished. To state before the court that a deal had supposedly been made with the prosecutor was manifestly impossible; in any case they were sure the only effect of such a statement would have been to make Judge Gregorowski even more intransigent, since he was bound to consider such a deal as being in direct defiance of the law and the authority of his court. And that would undoubtedly result in sentences even more severe. With a final plea for clemency, but with neither fact nor logic to support it, the ashen-faced lawyers sat down, unable to face their clients.

There were several moments of complete silence in the courtroom. Then Judge Gregorowski cleared his throat.

“If the ladies would please absent themselves from the court …”

It was an ominous sign. The wives of the defendants, many of whom did not even speak nor understand Afrikaans, looked about themselves wonderingly, but the movement of the other women in starting to make their way toward the aisles and then toward the rear of the room made the meaning of the judge’s words evident. Some of the women began to cry; other women comforted them as best they could. The warders, dressed all in funereal black, offered aid to the more stricken, while still urging them in the direction of the large doors leading from the room. Fay, with a final squeeze of Barney’s hand and a brave smile for him, made her way from the room with the others. The men remained, silent, waiting.

Judge Gregorowski waited until the warders had closed the doors on the last of the women; then he turned to face the large group of defendants, now standing, who crowded the space before him.

“You men have pleaded guilty to the charge of distributing arms in an attempt to overthrow the Transvaal Republic. It is therefore the sentence of this court that you each be fined the sum of two thousand pounds, that furthermore you each be imprisoned for a period of two years at hard labor, and that following your imprisonment you be banished forever from the Republic of the Transvaal.”

The men stared at him blankly, unable at first to comprehend what to them seemed the enormity of the sentence for such a minor crime. Distributing arms, for heaven’s sake! Who didn’t have arms among the Boers? Children had their own guns when they were seven! Besides, all they had been trying to do had been to assure themselves of their rights as citizens, as any right-thinking Englishman would have done. Besides, what about the deal that had been made? Certainly Gregorowski had to know about it. Why wasn’t he taking that into consideration? The thing had only been a prank, basically, and now they were being sent to serve two years at hard labor, and then banished from their homes afterward, for life? It wasn’t fair! It certainly wasn’t just!

The judge bit back a cruel smile of satisfaction at the perturbation he could see on the faces before him, the sentence by now having been translated in whispers to those who had not understood; then Gregorowski straightened his lips. He reached beneath the bench and brought forth a small square of black silk. He placed it on his bald head and turned to consider the four men facing him white-faced in the makeshift dock; the movement caused the silk to slip on the smooth skin of the judge’s head and only a quick fumbling movement on his part retrieved the cloth and kept it from falling. At any other time the gesture might have appeared comical, but there was no sign of a smile on any face in the room at that moment. The judge spoke, his voice harsh.

“For the crime of high treason against the Transvaal Republic, it is the sentence of this court that you four men be taken to the place of execution and there be hanged by the neck until you are dead.” He drew a deep breath. “May Almighty God have mercy on your souls …”

President Paul Kruger looked up from the papers he was studying as his aide entered the room and cleared his throat hesitantly for attention. Had his aide been anyone except his wife’s nephew he would have been dismissed long since. Kruger sighed.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Mr. Barnato is here. He would like a few minutes of your time.”

“Oh?”

“He—he’s dressed all in black, in mourning, and he has crepe around his hat. I—I imagine it’s in regard to the trial.”

“I imagine it is,” Kruger said briskly, surprised at his aide’s perception. Maybe something could be done with the boy yet. “Where is he?”

The aide appeared a bit puzzled. “He didn’t come in, sir. He went back and sat down on the top step of the stoep—”

Kruger’s face did not change expression a bit. “Tell Mr. Barnato I will see him in here. He will understand. This is not a friendly visit. No, don’t tell him that last part!” he added with irritation as he saw the aide silently repeating his words after him. Maybe nothing could be done with the boy, after all. “Idiot!” he muttered as his aide left the room, and put aside the papers he had been working on.

Barney came into the room and stood, crepe-banded hat in hand, before the seated Kruger as the aide withdrew, closing the door softly behind him. It was evident from the aide’s words and looks that this was going to be quite different from the meetings he had had with Kruger in the past. Kruger considered him for several moments, his fleshy face almost granitelike, and then gestured a trifle formally toward a chair. Barney seated himself, placing his hat on the floor beside him. He recognized that Kruger was being distant to avoid making any concessions to him, but he also recognized that the situation was far too serious to be put off by minor dramatics.

“Mr. President—”

Kruger waved a hand abruptly, interrupting. “Mr. Barnato, I can imagine why you are here. I’m very busy, but in view of our past relationship, I have granted you a few minutes of my time. Let me save you time. The trial is over; the sentences passed. There is nothing I can do.”

“Mr. President, there are many things you can do!” Barney was leaning forward, his eyes fixed on Kruger’s unbending face, his voice urgent in its force. “You can commute the sentences, you can cancel them altogether. You can declare the trial a farce, which it was. Whoever heard of pleading guilty to a charge of treason? It’s the same as taking a gun to your head and pulling the trigger! Whoever heard of putting your defense aside and leaving it up to the court to give you whatever sentence it decides on? Don’t tell me there isn’t anything you can do!”

Kruger’s voice was cold. “Perhaps I mean there is nothing I wish to do. Nothing I intend to do. Tell me, Mr. Barnato,” Kruger went on, his voice remaining expressionless, “suppose this raid had succeeded? Suppose the people of Johannesburg, without reason but incited by these dangerous fools, suppose they had risen in revolt at the successful entrance of Jameson and his troopers into the city? Suppose the attack on the arsenal here in Pretoria had been successful—oh, yes, we were fully aware of the intention long before your Captain Jameson became impetuous and started ahead of his instructions—suppose, in brief, that the revolution had been a success? What would your Colonel Frank Rhodes, or your John Hays Hammond, or your Carl Luckner, or your Lionel Phillips—what would these gentlemen have done with old Oom Paul Kruger?” He made a gesture, one hand drawn across his throat.

“No, sir! They would never have harmed you! They are civilized men—”

Kruger laughed, a harsh laugh.

“Civilized men? Who? Your Captain Jameson, who made a peace pact with the Matabele and then went in with his troopers when Lobengula was unprepared and slaughtered his tribesmen and sent him to die in the bush? Who? Your Carl Luckner, who kicked your own father-in-law to death with his boots for nothing at all? We know of these things, Mr. Barnato; we know our enemies. These are civilized men who rode into our Transvaal Republic, a country at peace with the world, with hundreds of armed troopers with the intention of taking over our country, and of killing anyone in their way? Civilized men! They sent their wives just yesterday to plead with my wife to intercede with me for mercy. My wife, Sanne, said, ‘And if they had had their way, what would they have done to my husband?’ And they said nothing, Mr. Barnato; they had nothing to say. Women know, Mr. Barnato; they know. Ask your own wife, she’ll tell you.” He shook his head. “No, Mr. Barnato. If you let a lion live after he tries to kill you, will he appreciate it? In the Bible it says that Daniel aided a lion and the lion remembered, but Daniel was a prophet, and we are not prophets, Mr. Barnato. Daniel was a holy man, but we are not holy men, Mr. Barnato. No; if you let a lion live after he tries to kill you, he will simply think you are weak or that you are stupid and he will strike you down at the next opportunity. Although,” he added with contempt, “what we are talking about here are not lions, but jackals.”

“Mr. President,” Barney said, fighting down the feeling that he was wasting his time with the arguments he was using, “believe me when I tell you I know these people. It would have been a bloodless—a bloodless—”

Kruger smiled humorlessly at the other man’s hesitation.

“A bloodless what, Mr. Barnato? A bloodless revolution? Other than hanging poor old Oom Paul Kruger, and who would worry about that except old Kruger himself, and maybe his family? A bloodless revolution, Mr. Barnato? Was there ever such a thing?” He leaned forward a bit, his jaw hard. “Let me tell you something! They killed twelve of our people, and for that they should all be hanged, not just those four! True, they lost more than that themselves, many more, but they killed twelve innocent Boers—twelve innocent men and boys! Killed! Men and boys who only wanted to be left alone to tend their farms and their flocks and their herds!” Kruger leaned back, his face rigid. “You know these people, you say? I never met them, but I know them better!”

Barney took a deep breath and changed his tactics. “Mr. President, look what you have gained from this affair—”

“Gained?” The bushy eyebrows went up. “Gained what? Twelve dead men and boys? Boer mothers who look to me to protect their husbands and sons, and now come to me crying?”

Barney looked Kruger in the eye. “Cecil Rhodes has resigned as Premier of the Cape because of this fiasco. I know how you feel about Rhodes as well as I know how he has always felt about you. You and he have been enemies for years. He’s a sick man and now, beyond that, he’s finished politically because of this raid. Surely that’s a gain for you. You can afford to be merciful.”

Kruger considered him almost sadly as he slowly shook his head.

“Mr. Barnato, you are a businessman, not a politician or a soldier. Stay with your businesses and leave politics and soldiering to others. The resignation of Cecil Rhodes will not help the Transvaal a bit. Eventually, probably—almost assuredly—it will mean further tension between the Boers and the British. It may in time, in a very short time, lead to war. Rhodes may have resigned because he had no choice after encouraging, even organizing, an attack on a friendly neighbor, but he will never give up his ambitions as long as he breathes. Nor, unfortunately, will England. We are a small people and Britain is a very large empire. The failure of Jameson’s raid will not end anything; most probably it will only begin something.”

He looked at Barney a moment, his forehead wrinkling as he asked the question.

“Tell me something, Mr. Barnato. What is your interest in this? I know you opposed the Reform Committee. I know you were opposed to any action against my government. What is your interest in saving these lives? In saving men like Carl Luckner, for example?”

“Carl Luckner is just a name, one man; he means nothing,” Barney said evenly, “but lives and living mean a great deal. I originally brought John Hays Hammond to this country. I will not see him hanged. Frank Rhodes has many faults, but he is a soldier and he thought he was doing his duty to his country. I cannot see him hanged. Solly Loeb is my nephew, my sister’s son. I will not see him in prison for two years. You are speaking of hanging four men. You are speaking of taking another sixty men and putting them in one of your prisons for two years at hard labor. Some of these men are not strong enough to stand two years in one of your prisons, Mr. President. For them the sentence is also a death sentence. I cannot stand by and see this happen.”

“They should have considered all that when they planned their revolt,” Kruger said coldly. “Our prisons are not meant to be holiday reports; they are meant to punish. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, says the Bible.” He came to his feet, indicating the interview was over. “I believe in the Bible, Mr. Barnato. I believe in the law. So I can only repeat what I said before. There is nothing I can do.”

Barney came to his feet as well. “I do not accept that statement, Mr. President,” he said, now fighting down his anger. “You have the power to commute those insane sentences, and we both know it. Well, I have power, too. If you do not commute those sentences within the next two weeks—and I mean no hangings, no prison with or without hard labor, no banishment, but any reasonable fine you wish—I will shut down every property I own or control in the entire Transvaal! I will put out of work over twenty thousand white men and over one hundred thousand Kaffirs! Your economy will lose the fifty thousand pounds my companies spend in your republic every week; you will lose the taxes I pay that keep your republic running! D’you want to ruin your precious republic just for the satisfaction of getting revenge on a bunch of fools?”

Kruger’s usually ruddy face whitened. “Mr. Barnato, sir, are you threatening me?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President. I’m threatening the existence of the entire Transvaal and its economy. I’m threatening what you have worked for all your life. And it’s a threat I can carry out. If you doubt me, read the newspapers tomorrow morning!”

He snatched up his hat and stormed from the room, not taking the time for the usual amenities with the President of the Republic. Kruger stared after him, trying his best not to let the anger that swept him either voice itself or affect his judgment. He was, after all, the President of a country, and he should be above anger. But it was difficult, for he knew Barney Barnato well enough to realize the man’s threat had not been an idle one. And without the revenues from the Barnato properties, the Transvaal would, indeed, suffer. He sighed. It was a decision that would have to be taken to the Executive Committee, although he knew in the long run the decision would have to be his. What would Abraham have done? What would Isaac have done… ?

Barney Barnato, followed by all the newspaper reporters in Johannesburg that he had been able to contact, began putting up the notices of the closing of the mines and his other properties himself that very night. One of the reporters, John Ryan of the Rand Daily Mail and an old acquaintance, paused in his scribbling to trot alongside Barney as Barney climbed into his trap and prepared to move on to his next objective. Ryan put his hand on the horse’s bridle, preventing it from moving, and dropped his voice, not wishing to share any information he might be able to garner.

“Come on, Barney! Be a pal. What’s this promotion really all about?”

Barney stared down at the man. “Johnny, didn’t you hear what I said to all the boys before?”

“I heard it, but who gives up a fortune just to stop a few men from going to prison? The chances are that Kruger isn’t going to hang the four. There’d be too much noise around the world if he did. He’s just giving them a skrik, a fright. Then he’ll give them prison sentences like the others. And who’s going to close all his mines and other businesses to save men from doing a few years in quod, especially men he was in open disagreement with? Men who weren’t particularly his friends? Men who, in many countries, would probably have been shot for what they did, instead of getting off with a mere two years on the rock pile? Who would throw away a fortune for them?”

“I would, that’s who. Now, let the horse go.”

“Look, Barney, I know you too well—”

“Let the horse go, or you’ll get the whip!”

The reporter released the horse but stepped up into the trap next to Barney. Barney hesitated a moment and then reluctantly slid to one side, letting Ryan enter the vehicle, rather than waste any more time. There was a chorus of complaining yells from the other reporters, but Ryan waved them away. Barney shook the reins, putting the trap in motion.

“Now, look, Barney,” Ryan said, trying to sound reasonable, “there’s a story in this, and you know me well enough to know I’ve got to get it. Why these notices you’re posting? And give me the real reason, this time. It’s not to save Carl Luckner’s hide, I’m sure.”

Barney spoke without looking at the man. “How about saving my sister’s son, Solly Loeb, from two years at hard labor in one of Kruger’s hell-hole prisons?”

The reporter looked at him in utter disbelief. “To save Solly Loeb? I should have thought you’d have paid to have him put away! I’ve wondered for the past year why you didn’t, but I figured you knew your business. Now I’m beginning to wonder.”

Barney frowned. He turned to stare at the man. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ryan still could not believe it. “You mean you don’t know?”

“Know what?” Barney was beginning to lose his temper. “Look, Johnny, start talking before I toss you out of the rig! Know what?”

“Know that your precious Solly Loeb has been cheating you for a long, long time!”

“What!” Barney’s hand jerked at the reins; the horse skittered and then recovered. Barney glared at Ryan. “You’re a liar!”

Johnny Ryan sighed. “Barney, reporters don’t lie. They may exaggerate, sometimes, but they don’t lie. And in any event, this isn’t even an exaggeration. You know, Barney, you’re a bright guy and I like you, but sometimes you’re a damn fool. You can’t see what’s under your nose, and most people are afraid to tell you. I know you’re a busy man, what with the new playhouse you’re building, and the improvements in the racecourse, and everything else you’re involved in, but it wouldn’t hurt you to pay some attention to your business every now and then.”

“What are you talking about?”

“For example,” Ryan said, quite as if Barney had not interrupted him, “have you heard of a new company in Jo’burg? The Reef Investment Company? A little over a year old. And going strong.”

“I’ve heard of it, of course. They’re competitors. Tough competitors, Solly tells me.”

Ryan snorted. “Solly tells you, does he? Well, he should know: he owns it.”

“What!”

“That’s right. Lock, stock, and barrel. He’s taken a good number of Barnato investors along with him to Reef—all the while running Barnato. Running it into the ground, that is. I thought at first it was a ploy of yours, but I’ve done some checking around. You’re just the innocent babe in the woods, waiting for the robins to come along and cover you with leaves.”

Barney pulled up the reins; the horse obediently stopped. Barney considered Ryan with dangerous quiet. “I don’t believe you.”

“Then you’re the only one in town who doesn’t. They’ve been laughing at you, Barney. One half the town’s been laughing at you. The other half has been praying you’d be taken down a peg or two. They resent you not taking a part in this revolt thing. They resent your success. They resent your money. They resent your being a Jew. They resent your friendship with Kruger, who they hate like poison. Maybe I’m foolish for telling you all this, but it’s high time somebody did. You’re throwing away a fortune, if what you told the boys is true, for men who don’t deserve it.”

“Then I guess I’m going to throw it away,” Barney said without expression, and whipped the horse up again. “Reach behind you for another poster, Johnny. We’ll be at the Primrose shaft in a few minutes.”

The reporter stared at him a moment. Barney returned the stare imperturbably. Johnny Ryan sighed and then, with a shrug of nonunderstanding, reached behind the seat for another notice of closure. One thing he knew, though: whether Barney Barnato was being a damned fool or not, it was going to be one hell of a story.

Paul Kruger had donned his most formal dress; across his barrel chest ran a new and lustrous blue-green silk sash of office, and although he was seated indoors on his favorite chair in the front sitting room of his home, a new tophat graced his large head, quite as if he were presiding over the Volksraad. Barney, shown into the presidential presence, stood almost at attention before the impressive-looking man.

“You sent for me, Mr. President?”

Kruger waited until his aide had withdrawn, closing the door behind him, and then looked at Barney. His hands, bent arthritically around the curved lions’ heads at the end of the chair’s arms, were clenched about the ornate wood tightly; there was the pain of defeat in his old eyes.

“Mr. Barnato, I have asked you here to give you the decision of the Executive Committee of the Volksraad. It is a decision made with mercy. The sentences of those involved in the attempt to overthrow the Transvaal Republic have been commuted. The four ringleaders, upon payment of a proper fine, will be freed and deported, banished for life from the Transvaal. There can be no discussion on this point. The sixty other men involved in the so-called Reform Committee will be freed upon payment of a proper fine, but not deported nor banished from the Transvaal.”

No muscle moved in Barney’s face at this triumph. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

“In return, I expect the notices of closure on your properties will be removed.”

“By nightfall, Mr. President.” He hesitated as Kruger remained silent. “Is there anything else, Mr. President?”

“Yes. One thing.” There was a moment’s silence before Kruger continued. When he did there was a touch of sadness in his voice, but the rigid hardness of steel as well. “You will not be welcome in this house again, Mr. Barnato.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, Mr. President.” It was an unfortunate thing, Barney knew, but he could understand it. He wondered if, under the same circumstances, he could have voiced the same dictum with the same composure. He bent his head a fraction and this time, in deference to the old man sitting there so majestically, while at the same time so helplessly defeated, Barney Barnato slowly backed from the room, his head remaining bent in recognition of having been in the presence of a great man, a man he had been privileged to know as a friend, a man he had bested for others who were, in effect, far more his enemies than the old man sitting so rigidly in the gloom of the rococo room.

“England,” Barney said to Fay with a broad smile, and patted her growing stomach affectionately. “You’ll have Jason, or Michelle, or whoever, there. Would you like that? A proper doctor, with proper nurses, in a proper hospital if you want—everything proper and the best for our second kind. What d’you say?”

Fay smiled at him a bit mischievously. “Kinder, most likely. What if I have two Jasons, or two Michelles? I’m getting awfully big, you know. Could they handle that in England?”

Barney waved the question away majestically. “Lydy, us’ns can ‘andle anythin’ in ol’ Lunnon Town! Bybies er men folk. Er women folk, fer all o’ that.” He dropped the atrocious and nearly forgotten accent and grinned at Fay. “We’ll be able to see Harry and his family again, and my folks who are still alive, thank God, and I’ll show Leah the King of Prussia where her uncle Harry was a bouncer and her daddy used to do his first juggling act, and I’ll stand her a ginger beer and you a regular beer just for putting up with me all these years—if the King is still there, of course. How would you like that?”

“If that’s what you want, darling—” She saw some of the joy leave his face and added swiftly, softly, “It’s what I want, too, darling. When I say I want what you want, it isn’t just to make a concession to you. It’s because what pleases you pleases me. And going to England again will please both of us. Besides,” she added, as if to put a touch of logic into the discussion, “Leah Primrose should meet her cousins, get to know her family. I love the idea. When do we leave?”

“In a month. I’ve booked us passage on the Scott; it’s an all-steam ship,” Barney said, spirits restored. God, after all the years one word from Fay could still raise him to heaven or devastate him! “We can stop on the way to the Cape and spend a few days in Kimberley, see old friends, look in on the Paris Hotel, drop by Dutoitspan, remember when and where we first met.” He looked at Fay, serious now. “D’you remember those days?”

She reached for him, taking his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“They’re rather hard to forget, darling. I sat in that tent with my pa, cutting cloth for miners’ pants, basting for Pa to sew, wondering what on earth I’d done on the trail to keep you away from me, to make you forget me so soon, or to want to forget me.”

“And I went from sorting shed to sorting shed with old Rhodes, wondering how on earth I could get up the nerve to tell you that a nobody like me was in love with a beautiful girl like you—”

Fay smiled. “You mean, in love with a beautiful, rich, well-dressed”—her smile faltered a bit at the memory—”shy, silly, terribly frightened girl like me, with ugly hands.” She looked down at her hands and then pulled Barney to her, holding him tightly. “Oh, Barney, we’ve been so lucky!”

“We’ll always be lucky,” Barney said, and meant it. He paused as there was a discreet tap on the open door; a servant was there, waiting for their attention. “Yes?”

“Your nephew is here.”

Fay looked at him questioningly. “Solly? For dinner?”

“No, just for a few minutes. I asked him to drop in before dinner. He’ll be coming to England with us.” He turned to the servant. “In the living room.”

“Oh?” Fay said. “That’s nice. I’ll have some tea made.”

“I think he may prefer whiskey tonight,” Barney said enigmatically, and walked into the living room, forming the words in his mind he intended to use, although he had considered them in detail for some time. When Solly appeared, debonair as usual, Barney nodded to him pleasantly and walked over, shutting the door. Solly sat down in an easy chair and brought out a large cigar, lighting it, leaning back comfortably.

“You wanted to see me, Barney?”

“Yes.” Barney sat down opposite him. “I’m going to England, taking Fay and Leah Primrose with me. I thought it would be good for Fay to have the baby there with decent care and everything. And it’s about time for Leah to meet her family, anyway.”

Solly nodded. “It’s a good idea. Everything here will be handled. Not to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Barney said, and smiled. “I’m sure, in your usual manner, you have everything organized quite well. So well, in fact, that I’m suggesting you come with me.”

“I’m afraid that would be rather difficult at the moment, Barney. There are so many things going on—”

“I’m sure. Still,” Barney said smoothly, “I want you to come with me. I’m positive the stockholders in the Barnato Investment Company would like to have a firsthand report from the man who has practically been running the company for the past few years.”

“I’d like to come,” Solly said with as much sincerity as he could muster. “I honestly would. But with the investment business in the state it’s in, especially after the Jameson affair and the trial and all, I think it would be far better for me to stay here and keep an eye on things. Once things settle down,” he added, making a concession, “I’ll be very happy to join you in London and give as many reports as you wish.”

Barney sighed. He looked at his nephew almost pityingly.

“I don’t believe you understand, Solly,” he said gently. “I’m not asking you. I’m ordering you to come with me.”

Solly looked up, his surprise genuine. “Ordering me?” He laughed. “Barney, slavery has been abolished in South Africa for a long, long time. You should read your history books.” He puffed on his cigar a moment and then set it down in an ashtray, sitting a bit more erect, frowning at his uncle. “Now, just what brought all this on?”

“Many things,” Barney said, and shrugged. “I’ll admit I’ve been derelict in my duty to our clients in that I left many decisions in your hands, allowed you a free hand, as a matter of fact, while I played around with other things that interested me. But lately I’ve been taking a greater interest in the business, checking things out for myself.”

“And?”

“And I ran into a company called the Reef Investment Company.”

“What about the Reef Investment Company?” Solly asked, and now his tone was wary.

“You own it,” Barney said calmly. “Under a dummy, but you own it nevertheless. And you’ve been using it to hurt Barnato Investment. Turning customers from Barnato to Reef. I can only assume you sold your shares in Barnato without informing the company before you started Reef. Very clever.”

Solly sighed and leaned over, crushing out his cigar. He came to his feet, looking down at Barney. When he spoke there was a touch of regret in his voice, but it was not regret for anything he had done to his uncle.

“I suppose it had to come to an end sometime, but I’m just sorry it had to come out before I’d finished the job I was doing on Barnato Investment. I imagine for the sake of your precious stockholders you’ll want my resignation in writing. You’ll have it in the morning.”

Barney looked up at the standing man. Solly was considering him with a glint of humor on his dark, handsome face. Barney returned the look imperturbably. “Sit down, Solly.”

“Why? Is there more?”

“A little more. Sit down.” There was something in Barney’s tone that Solly could not understand. He hesitated a moment and then with a shrug reseated himself. Barney smiled at him, a cold, humorless smile. “Sometimes, Solly, you have a tendency to underestimate people. Now, you know as well as I do that what you did with the Reef Investment Company was immoral, if not actually illegal. I’m sure you’re smart enough to have covered your tracks in that direction. But the fact is that to all intents and purposes you took money from the Barnato Investment Company’s stockholders. In effect, you robbed them. I think it’s only right that you come to London with me and explain to these same stockholders at a board meeting—which I’ve already asked Harry to call—exactly how and when you plan on returning that money to them.”

Solly looked at his uncle with amusement, and then made a motion as if to rise again. “If that’s all you have to say—”

“Not quite. I took you from the London slums and made you. By the same token I can break you and put you right back there again, fancy speech, fancy clothes, fancy bank account, fancy friends, and all. I’m a good friend but a bad enemy; you should have learned that much about me after all these years. You will either come back to London with me or sit here and wonder what I plan to do to ruin you. But believe me, on my mother’s life, I’ll ruin you if it costs me every penny I have.”

Solly had settled back, looking at his uncle with slightly widened eyes.

“That’s right,” Barney said approvingly. “Think about it. It’s something to think about. You know I can do it and you know I will, and the fact that you’re my sister’s boy will make no difference. There are a hundred ways, and I’m sure you know most of them as well as I do. I will make your name stink in the nostrils of every investor in the Transvaal, in the Cape Colony, in the Orange Free State. I will see to it that you’re not allowed within fifty yards of any stock exchange or brokerage house in all South Africa. I will guarantee you that before I’m through with you, your dear friends in the Rand Club will spit at hearing your name. I can and will break you into little, tiny pieces.” He paused and shrugged. “Or, you can come to London with me and face the music. Maybe even retrieve something. I don’t know.”

Solly wet his lips. “Does—does Harry or any of the others in the family know any of this?”

“Nobody in the family knows any of this,” Barney said contemptuously. “Not even Fay. I don’t make a practice of advertising my mistakes. But I imagine everyone in South Africa knows I’ve been made a fool of by you. Still, think of the pleasure you’ll get when you face the board of directors and let them in on the secret most of South Africa has been sharing for quite some time.” He watched Solly come to his feet and walk a bit unsteadily to the sideboard, pour himself a large whiskey, and down it in a single gulp. Barney’s voice remained expressionless. “Well?”

“I’ll—I’ll come to London with you …”

“Fine,” Barney said, and came to his feet. “We sail on the Scott a month from now. Your cabin has already been reserved. And don’t bother to come to the office to clear your desk. It’s being cleared right now.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my dinner.”